...As Hanjun turned around, the first thing he noticed was how scared and shocked Jayhon looked. And then, his eyes traveled down to Beixin.
The dark-haired girl who had taught them how to survive was pooling blood onto the polished marble floor.
Her vibrant red eyes were fading to a dull, lifeless gray.
"One down,"
the royal guard grunted, lifting his blood-stained broadsword for another strike.
"Two to go."
Jayhon was completely frozen,
a statue of pure, unadulterated terror. He couldn't even scream; his ocean eyes were wide, reflecting the absolute certainty of his
own death.
Inside Hanjun's chest, there was no grand explosion of anger.
He had never really felt happiness,
sadness,
or rage. His face remained entirely blank, his big gray eyes wide and vacant like a newborn cat.
Yet, looking at the guard raising the sword over Jayhon,
his mouth opened, and a flat, completely monotone voice slipped out.
"Killing people over a single loaf of bread seems like bad economic management," Hanjun said blankly. "
The funeral costs alone will exceed the price of the wheat."
The guard blinked, momentarily thrown off by the kid's eerie, deadpan delivery. But that split second of confusion was all the luck Hanjun needed.
Hanjun didn't know how to fight, but as the guard hesitated,
Hanjun stumbled forward.
His foot caught the edge of his oversized, stolen trousers. He tripped perfectly, his body lunging downward in a clumsy, accidental dive.
To save himself from face-planting, he thrust his hand straight forward, aiming blindly at the guard's midsection.
In that exact moment of life-or-death panic, the raw, unrefined green Zheki inside his heart surged. It didn't form a small light this time.
It condensed violently around his hand, sharpening into a jagged, solid blade of emerald energy.
SPLAT.
Fueled by the momentum of his clumsy fall,
Hanjun's hand plunged straight into the guard's stomach like a physical sword.
The guard's eyes widened in sheer disbelief.
Before he could even gasp,
the vine-like Zheki exploded outward through his torso, tearing cleanly through his back in a spray of blood and sharp wooden thorns.
The guard collapsed into a heap, dead before he hit the ground.
Hanjun pulled his hand back, his face still completely expressionless as he stared at the blood on his sleeve. "Oh. I broke him. I didn't think he was made of paper."
"You... you monster!" the second guard roared.
Unlike his companion, this guard was a true elite. His golden armor hummed with a fierce, radiating heat—a loyal practitioner of the King's Sun-Zheki. He drew a massive, glowing broadsword, his eyes burning with absolute devotion to his monarch. He lunged at Hanjun, ready to incinerate the boy.
CRASH!!!
The massive, stained-glass window high above the throne room shattered into a million glittering pieces.
Through the shower of glass, a young girl dropped from the ceiling.
She looked incredibly young—even a bit younger than Hanjun—but,
her movements were terrifyingly precise.
She had striking emerald-green eyes, a cascade of fiery red hair, and intricate vine tattoos permanently etched into her skin, tracing down her spine and elegantly between her breasts.
This was Rika.
Rika drew a pair of curved daggers, her green eyes locking onto the loyal guard. "Step back, peasant," she commanded, her voice sharp despite her young age.
"An elf rat!" the loyal guard roared, swinging his flaming broadsword in a wide arc.
The battle was instantaneous and brutal.
Rika was fast,
a whirlwind of crimson hair and flashing blades,
but the loyal guard's devotion made him a mountain.
Every time Rika's daggers struck his armor, the heat of his Sun-Zheki deflected the blow.
He unleashed a massive,
sweeping wave of fire that caught Rika squarely in the shoulder.
Rika gasped, stumbling backward as the fabric of her light armor scorched.
The loyal guard pressed the advantage, bringing his heavy sword down with terrifying strength.
Rika barely managed to cross her daggers to block,
the sheer force of the impact driving her to her knees.
Her vine tattoos flared a brilliant green as she poured every ounce of her Wood-Zheki into holding him back.
With a fierce cry, Rika twisted her blades, redirecting his sword into the floorboards.
In a flash of pure agility,
she drove her dagger deep into the gap of his armor beneath his armpit.
The guard coughed up blood, staggering backward, heavily wounded and on the verge of collapse.
"Impressive,"
King Morvane said,
slowly standing up from his throne.
The air in the room suddenly grew heavy, suffocatingly hot.
A golden, oppressive aura began to radiate from his body.
"A child of the high elves, fighting so fiercely. You amuse me. Let me show you true power."
But Rika didn't stay to play hero. Seeing the King stand, she knew they were completely outmatched.
"Hold on!"
she yelled, her vine tattoos erupting into a massive wave of blinding green mist and thorny roots that shattered the remaining stone walls.
By the time the King's golden aura blew the mist away,
the throne room was empty.
They had vanished.
Hours later,
deep within the damp,
forgotten catacombs beneath the outer walls of Morvane, the group hid in the shadows.
Beixin lay unconscious on a bed of old sacks, her back bleeding badly.
Jayhon was sobbing silently in a corner,
while Rika knelt on the ground, clutching her burned shoulder and panting heavily from exhaustion.
Hanjun stood by,
staring blankly at his hands.
"We need to move her,"
Rika muttered, her teeth grit against the pain.
"The King's men will—"
CRASH!!!
The stone window grate of the catacomb shattered.
Through the dust stumbled the loyal guard from the throne room.
He was bleeding
profusely from the wound under his arm,
his golden armor shattered,
his breathing ragged.
Yet, his eyes were wide, burning with a fanatical, terrifying loyalty to his King.
He had tracked them through the dark.
"For... the King..."
the guard wheezed,
drawing his broadsword with his one good arm.
His other hand was pressed firmly against his bleeding chest, holding his pooling injuries together.
"Are you serious?"
Hanjun said, his voice entirely flat and monotone.
"Sir, you are actively leaking. Please go lie down."
"Die, traitors!"
the guard bellowed.
"Attack him together! He's almost dead!"
Rika shouted, forcing herself to stand.
The three of them lunged at once. Rika swung her daggers,
Jayhon unleashed a desperate,
shaky stream of water, and Hanjun thrust his hand forward, trying to summon another vine blade.
But the loyal guard fought like a true hero of Morvane.
Even with one arm holding his guts in and his vision fading,
his martial instinct was flawless. With a magnificent, sweeping strike of his single sword,
he deflected Rika's daggers
shattered Hanjun's weak green light
and blew past Jayhon's water.
He stepped through their combined assault, taking a deep, final breath.
He completely ignored the kids attacking him, twisting his body in a final, beautiful maneuver.
With a sudden, explosive thrust, the loyal guard drove his broadsword straight downward—piercing directly through the chest of the unconscious Beixin as she lay helpless on the sacks.
Beixin's body jolted once, her graying eyes fluttering open for a brief fraction of a second before going completely dark.
The loyal guard let go of the hilt. He staggered backward against the damp stone wall, his life force completely spent.
Blood poured from his mouth, but as his eyes closed and his body went limp, a grand,
triumphant smile spread across his face.
He had finished his job.
He died a hero to his kingdom, leaving the kids frozen in a silence broken only by the sound of Jayhon's horrific shriek.